Chapter – 13
A Dirty Mood
His eyes felt dry as sand when he lowered his eyelids. He thought he could just melt into the chair and become one with it.
“Exactly. But if she’s really waiting for her boyfriend, it doesn’t make sense, does it? What kind of man stands up a woman that beautiful for a whole week? He’d have to be blind or crazy.”
But then he straightened up. The chair’s wheels rolled back with a rough scrape. He strode toward the window; the conversation drifted farther away.
Swish, swish.
When he raised the blinds, the red afternoon sun spilled across his smooth face. Younghoon squinted, then half sat on the dusty window ledge.
He stretched one leg out, leaned forward, and pried open the narrow gap of the glass window. From the chest pocket of his crisp white shirt, he pulled out a cigarette pack with practiced ease.
“Unless you’re one of them, who can really know? It’s between a man and a woman—maybe there’s some big story behind it.”
Younghoon inhaled the chilly air. His chest swelled, and the shirt tightened around him. He loosened his tie and flicked open the top button.
He tapped the unlit cigarette against the frame. Though he never lit it, he slipped it slowly between his lips.
“Or maybe it’s something like this—she supported him through the bar exam, and once he became a prosecutor, he dumped her. And now she’s waiting around like a fool, right?”
A chuckle followed—a middle-aged man’s genial, knowing laugh.
“Oh, come on, Mr. Lee, you’ve been watching too many dramas. Still, I’m worried she’ll collapse out there. She’s gone so pale she looks like a sheet of paper. You think she’s sick?”
The cigarette filter crushed slightly between Younghoon’s lips.
He mulled over the data he’d been reviewing in his head.
Company name: Nexus Resource International.
Founded two years ago. Explosive revenue growth. Strangely low operating costs. Unclear asset details.
Too many suspicious points to count.
“Maybe she’s just lovesick.”
Low laughter—thick and dusty—mingled with the stagnant afternoon air.
Younghoon pulled the cigarette from between his teeth and muttered a curse. Then he turned sharply.
Bang.
The door to the prosecutor’s office slammed open, crashing against the wall. The chatter in the room cut off instantly.
Detective Park Han-moo, who’d just been laughing along, raised his friendly face toward him, eyes wide.
“Prosecutor? Something wrong?”
Younghoon strode toward him and dropped a stack of files onto his desk with a thud.
“This company.”
At that, Han-moo picked up the papers. His brow furrowed as he scanned through them slowly.
“The numbers are inflated.”
Ah. His eyes lifted as if the puzzle had finally clicked into place.
“Shall we dig into it?”
“Especially this part.”
Younghoon’s long finger tapped the middle of the page—under ‘Local Community Development Cooperation.’
“Check every supporting document—contracts, investment records, recipients, everything.”
Han-moo sighed deeply. He glanced at the mountain of paperwork beside him and asked, weary but even-toned:
“Official inquiry, sir?”
Younghoon, already halfway across the office, gripped the lever of the blinds and answered:
“Unofficial.”
Han-moo nodded lightly, not surprised—only resigned. A trace of fatigue, a flicker of reluctant respect.
“All right.”
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, his eyes widened.
“You’re skipping lunch again, aren’t you? I’m going to Gahwa Mansaseong today. Want to come? The daily special’s cream shrimp!”
But Younghoon only raised a hand in reply and walked off, his polished shoes clicking down the hall.
Behind him, the same gossip started up again—like a priest reciting a tired prayer.
“If that woman really got dumped, then the guy’s a total jerk. Bet he acts all righteous, too—‘I protect justice,’ my ass. Hypocrite.”
What fine novelists they all were.
Younghoon pressed his palm against the bridge of his nose.
When the elevator doors finally closed, the chatter cut off. For reasons he couldn’t name, he let out a long breath of relief.
Ding.
The doors opened on the first floor, and he strode straight through the lobby.
Outside, he joined the cluster of people puffing away in the smoking area, lighting his cigarette at last.
First break in hours. He drew in the smoke slowly, savoring it.
Then why the hell do I feel so dirty?
Through the haze of smoke, his gaze drifted—and then froze on a slender silhouette in the distance.
The woman’s pale face made it clear why that irritation was boiling inside him.
* * *
Tap, tap.
Confident footsteps echoed behind Eunhee.
Her heart leapt before she could stop it. She’d been waiting for a week.
But she hid the emotion neatly away, lifting her chin with quiet composure.
Then her face stiffened, the warmth draining out. It wasn’t Cha Younghoon.
“Um, hello?”
The brief spark of hope in her eyes vanished just as quickly.
“Are you… waiting for someone?”
She stared at him blankly, without reaction. Only one thought crossed her mind: He’s tall.
Not as tall as him, though.
“You’ve been standing here for days. I thought maybe you were looking for someone.”
“He’s just… a little late, that’s all…”
Her small protest came out barely above a whisper.
She knew she was being foolish—still waiting for a man who might never come.
“I see. Don’t get me wrong—I just thought I might be able to help.”
The young man gestured toward the building—that building, where Cha Younghoon worked.
“I work here. Is the person you’re waiting for inside? Maybe your boyfriend?”
Eunhee lowered her head and shook it slightly. She didn’t want to be misunderstood, even by a stranger.
“Ah, I see.”
Why did his voice sound faintly relieved?
“Actually, I’ve noticed you here a few times. I don’t know if I should say this, but…”
He trailed off, and Eunhee lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You’re really beautiful.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly.
Looking at him, Eunhee once again—foolishly—thought of Cha Younghoon.
He must be older, she guessed. His demeanor, his speech, his air—all of it.
Then an ache, slow and heavy, pressed against her heart.
A terrible thought whispered: Maybe I’ll never reach him again.
“I told myself if you were still here today, I’d talk to you.”
Her mind snapped back to the present.
She knew she had to stop this before it got awkward.
But before she could, he quickly cut in, as if expecting her to refuse.
“I’m not some weirdo. Here, first—”
He fumbled inside his navy jacket, then extended a hand carefully toward her.
In his palm lay a white card gleaming faintly in the sunlight—his name and department printed sharply.
“I’m Prosecutor Choi Giwon from the Criminal Affairs Division.”
Before she could even read it, he introduced himself.
But Eunhee didn’t take the card. Her eyes fell to the ground.
“So, may I ask the name and department of the person you’re looking for?”
He studied her face carefully, as though measuring something.
“I’m sorry.”
Her answer was short—a quiet refusal.
He nodded, unfazed.
“Fair enough. I was being a bit forward. I understand. Please don’t misunderstand me. But at least—please, just take this.”
He smiled, his fine features touched with a ray of sunlight. His proud face glowed golden.
Then that face cracked—like porcelain hit by a sharp sound.
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
The sudden voice shattered the air.
And the atmosphere changed in an instant.
